Personal Demon (23 page)

“You calling me short?”

“Petite.”

He turned me to face him, and perched me on the edge of the low section next to the stove. Then he slid the shirt up over my thighs, pulling my legs around him, and pushed into me.

I gasped. “Having sex with a woman
while
she’s cooking your breakfast? Your fantasies are showing your age, Karl.”

“Is that a complaint?”

“An observation.”

“Ah.”

“But if I overcook the bacon…”

“My fault. Risk noted.” He thrust into me. “And accepted.”

OVER BREAKFAST, KARL
wanted to talk about Jaz and Sonny’s disappearance. I’d rather have not.

The mention of Jaz’s name made my stomach churn. I was worried about him and desperately wanted to find him, to make sure he was safe. And then what? How would I explain this?

Thank God you’re back, Jaz. Er, but about that special night you had planned…

Yes, I’d initially wanted a fling with Jaz
because
of Karl, to wipe him from my mind, but it hadn’t been a casual hookup. I liked Jaz, cared about him, and that only made it all worse.

But if I did care, then I had to put my own feelings of guilt aside and concentrate on figuring out what had happened to him. Karl raised the possibility that Jaz and Sonny’s disappearance was an inside job. I think he was shocked when I agreed it was a possibility. Did he expect me to jump to the defense of people I’d met only days ago? We weren’t dealing with a Boy Scout troop.

When he told me whom he suspected, though, I
did
disagree. Could I see Guy killing a crew member to further his agenda? Possibly. But it wouldn’t be Jaz.

We decided the next step was to get into the club and take a look around while everyone else was sleeping off a late night hunting for Jaz and Sonny. It was unlikely we’d find a “why I kidnapped my crew mates” note hidden in the back closet. But if Guy kept any records of those Cabal dustups they’d be at the club.

YESTERDAY, KARL HAD
huffed about poor security at the club. Seems that had been his ill humor talking. The security was well above anything I could breach, and even Karl had to work to get us in.

Once inside, we split up to check the building and ensure we were indeed alone. Karl would take the office; I’d look through the club and back storerooms.

Walking through the club reminded me of the first time I’d cut through with Bianca. Now, alone, that unnatural hush and shadowy darkness was even worse.

I felt my way around the pool tables as I circumvented the dance floor. Ahead I saw those floor-side tables where we’d partied after the sweet sixteen heist. I stared at the chair where I’d sat on Jaz’s lap.

If Jaz hadn’t disappeared, would last night have been different? No. If Karl and I had managed to find another route past the anger, I’d be here now worrying about what to tell Jaz.

Had I used him?

In a way, yes. I’d seized a genuine attraction to try and get over Karl.

But that attraction…Part of me wanted to say it was purely physical. He was young and hot and interested—the perfect recipe for chemistry. To admit there’d been more felt like a disloyalty to Karl, that buried romantic in me wanting to say that Karl was everything I’d ever wanted.

But with Jaz there had been a connection. Had there been no Karl, then I think we could have had something.

“How did you get in here?”

I jumped at Bianca’s voice. But when I spun around, I couldn’t see her.

“I asked you a question,” Bianca said.

Her voice was sharp. I felt her anger ripple through me as I peered around the club.

“You have five seconds to tell me who the hell you are, or I’m escorting you to the front door. After I call security.”

A man’s laugh, then a voice, unfamiliar. “There’s no one here but us, Bianca.”

“Do I know you?”

“Don’t you?”

The voice grew closer, and a dash of fear seeped into her anger. I closed my eyes and circled, stopping when I felt a mental twinge that said “this way to the chaos buffet.” When I opened my eyes, I was staring at the door to the stockrooms.

“What do you want?” Bianca said.

“Uh-uh. Keep your distance, babe. Third-degree burns aren’t on my agenda.”

I slid my gun from my purse and hurried to the hall door.

HOPE: TASTE OF DEATH

I
slowly turned the knob, then opened the door a crack. Light flooded out. I listened. All was silent. A peek through. Four doors, all closed. If I remembered right, the first two were for janitorial supplies and technical equipment, and the last pair for bar stock.

“One last time,” Bianca said. “What do you want?”

Her voice echoed, simultaneously heard in my head and, muffled, from down the hall. I raised my gun and took a slow step forward, testing the floor against my shoes, seeing how easily they’d squeak on the painted concrete.

“I want you to take a message to your boss,” the man said. “From Benicio Cortez.”

I broke into a jog, moving as quickly and silently as I could.

“What is it?” Bianca asked.

“Here, catch.”

I stumbled back, hit by a lash of chaos so strong it left me blinking, blinded.

I squeezed my eyes shut, brain screaming, knowing what was coming and fighting to stop—

Bianca’s face. Her horror. Reduced to pants-wetting terror as she saw the gun lift, the gunman’s finger on the trigger, and knew she couldn’t escape, couldn’t scream, wouldn’t have time. The bullet spit from the gun, near silent, hitting her square in the forehead. I heard her last thought, a mental scream of defiance.
No! Not me! Not now!

Then…silence.

I could see Bianca’s horror, recognize her horror, be horrified by it and yet, I
felt
none of it, consumed as the chaos flooded me, leaving me trembling and panting and…Oh, God. Wanting more.

The first time I’d felt someone die, that night I’d met Karl, it had been too strong, like my first shot of hard liquor, leaving me reeling, no pleasure to be taken. And I’d been relieved. So relieved. However screwed up my lust for chaos, at least I was never going to enjoy
that
. I’d soon realized I’d been wrong. Like liquor, it was only the first hit that stung.

As the vision dimmed, I saw a man bend over Bianca’s body. Average height, dark-haired, late thirties, Latino, with a heavy jacket and loose pants.

The gunman checked Bianca’s pulse. No chaos vibes emanated from him. With nothing to keep the vision going, it continued to fade.

The door swung open. The gunman strode into the hall and, for a second, I couldn’t move. Then the man wheeled, gaze going to mine, eyes widening in shock and I realized, with an oddly calm clarity, that I was standing twenty feet from the man who’d just shot Bianca. Chaos still buzzed through my head, numbing my reflexes. If he had lifted his gun and fired, I don’t know if there’d have been anything I could have done about it.

But he just stared at me, as if in shock himself. I felt the weight of my gun in my hand, but before I could unthinkingly lift it, I realized he had the advantage. My gun hung at my side, fingers grasping it awkwardly, my readiness thrown off by the chaos blast.

I wheeled and ran.

The door was only a few steps away, but I zagged to it rather than taking a straight path, recalling my defense lessons against spellcasts. My brain tripped ahead, laying out a memory map of the club and showing me places to hide.

Hide was what I had to do. All the exits were at least fifty feet away, and no amount of zigging and zagging would get me that far without a bullet through my back.

Escape wasn’t on my mind anyway. I had a gun, and I wasn’t letting Bianca’s killer walk away.

I slammed the door behind me. Then I ducked and ran around the bar. A flash of light told me the gunman had opened the hall door. I dropped to the floor and gripped the gun. When I closed my eyes, I could feel his vibes, not anger but anxiety, his thoughts a mental loop of “Shit, where’d she go?”

My target was in place. All I had to do was peek over the bar, raise the gun and shoot him. At the thought, my heart tripped faster, but not from excitement.

I’d never killed anyone.

I could have laughed at the thought, almost a guilty admission, like saying I’d never driven a car. In the normal world, not having killed people is a perfectly acceptable “missed life experience.” Desirable, in fact. But in the supernatural world, at least in the type of work I did, it’s a given that at some point it will come down to kill or be killed.

Karl told me once that he couldn’t remember the faces of every man he’d killed. It wasn’t that there were scores of them, but enough that they no longer stood clear in his mind. He hadn’t said it with regret, but nor had he been bragging. He was simply making a thoughtful statement during a discussion of risk and death in the supernatural world.

I could look on this the same way: kill or be killed. But was I in danger? The gunman hadn’t fired at me in the hall. Now he wasn’t putting out any vibes of anger or threat.

Could
I
justify leaping from behind the bar, gun blazing, taking down a stranger who hadn’t made a move on me?

Still crouching, I retreated into the shadowy corner between the bar and the wall, my back protected, gun raised. I wasn’t letting him walk out of here. He had answers, and Karl could get them from him.

While it would be nice to take the gunman down alone, I stood a better chance of success if Karl helped. I reached for my panic button, then stopped. Push it and Karl would come running—into a room with an armed killer.

I flipped open my phone and began a text message. I got as far as “bar gunman” when a rubber sole squeaked on the floor. I glanced at the glowing cell phone, shut it quickly, then scrunched back against the wall.

I was too exposed. I saw that now. I was relying on dim lighting, a shadowy corner and dark clothing, which was fine for a casual glance, but if he walked around that bar, searching, he’d see me. To get to either exit, he
had
to walk around the bar.

He slid into view. Less than twenty feet from me, gun up, gaze sweeping the room with every step.

Heart hammering, I readied myself. If he saw me, I’d have to—

His gaze swung my way…and kept going. I exhaled a long, shuddering breath. If he was giving off any chaos vibes, I couldn’t detect them—they were too low to penetrate my own anxiety.

The gunman kept moving away, heading toward the back hall.

The back hall…where Karl was…

I fumbled for my phone. How could I open it without turning on the backlight? Damn it, I should know this!

The gunman walked along the wall. Ten feet above his head was the second tier, a wide ledge lined with the dark shapes of tables. I decided he was far enough that I’d risk the phone’s backlight, and was opening it when one dark shape on that second tier moved. A man’s figure swung over the low railing.

Karl landed square on the gunman’s back, his drop so soundless the man let out a startled yelp. The two men went down. I ran to cover Karl. As I passed the bar, I caught another motion, out of the corner of my eye. A figure on the top tier across the room, dressed in black, with something on his shoulder, long and—

“Karl! Partner!”

As the words left my mouth, I wished I could suck them back, say something clearer and I was about to yell

“gun” when that gun swung my way. I dove, and Karl did the same, flinging the man off him and going for cover.

I scrambled under the nearest pool table, then scampered around the centerpiece, putting it between myself and the second gunman. I flattened out on my stomach, gun raised.

Something thumped against the table beside me. A soft sound, barely enough to carry. I swung my gun toward it.

“Stay,” Karl hissed.

While I could have slugged him for not “staying” himself, for taking the risk getting to me, I couldn’t deny a dart of relief when his dark figure dropped beside me.

“Shhh,” he said.

Again, I wasn’t the one who needed the warning, but I turned my attention to the path I’d been watching.

Karl slid closer, lips moving to my ear.

“They’re retreating. Heading for the side door. Two sets of footsteps.” He hung there, breath warm against my ear. “Still going. Still…The door. Open. Closed. Silence. Footsteps down the back hall. Receding. We’ll wait.

Be sure.”

He stayed where he was, pressed up against me. After a minute, he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.

“You okay?” I whispered. “That drop—”

“—was nothing. But I think I wrenched my neck when you yelled.”

“Better than catching a bullet.”

“True. And you? I don’t smell blood, so I presume you’re okay?”

“He killed Bianca. The guy you jumped. I…saw it.”

His gaze swung to mine. He didn’t ask “are you okay?” because he knew I wouldn’t be, and it had nothing to do with the horror of watching someone die. His arm went around my back as he leaned toward my ear and whispered, “We’ll talk.”

“After we get the hell out of here, right? Before someone discovers the body and finds us hiding under the pool table.”

A small smile. “Preferably.”

I pushed up as he backed out from under the table. I was getting to my feet when he pushed me back under and dropped beside me.

“Footsteps.”

A door slapped open, and Tony’s voice wafted in. “—goddamn cleaners. Just like the last time. Guy freaks out, certain the Cortezes broke in. I say, ‘Hey man, couldn’t the cleaners have forgotten to reset the alarm,’ but no…Gotta be a conspiracy.”

“Bianca’s supposed to be here for deliveries,” Max said. “Could have been her.”

“Bee’s going to forget to rearm the system? As if.”

“Looks like she’s still doing inventory. The hall light’s on. We should tell her about the alarm.”

“And get shanghaied into helping count boxes? Enjoy. I’m heading around back, see whether Guy’s here, if he has any news about Jaz and Sonny.”

We waited until Max and Tony stepped through their respective exits, then hightailed it out.

LUCAS: 5

PORTLAND IS A CITY
of many charms. Primary among them is the geography—almost as far as I can get from my father and his Cabal without leaving the continental U.S. As the saying goes, though: act in haste, repent at leisure. I suggested that Paige and I settle in Portland during a particularly dark period between my father and myself, and I have, in some ways, come to regret it. The distance may be comforting, but if trouble arises in Miami, it takes me a while to get there.